


Tribe

by Menirva



Category: Dark Knight Rises (2012)
Genre: A/B/O, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Dubious Consent, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-05
Updated: 2013-07-16
Packaged: 2017-12-17 17:53:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 21,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/870294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Menirva/pseuds/Menirva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a time when omegas are scarce, nomadic warriors led by Talia, Bane and Barsad overtake a village with seemingly nothing exceptional to offer.  Their hopeful tribute, however, turns out to be a rare gem given over in an attempt to appease Bane... An omega named John.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Not set in any particular time period or place setting. Just... Alternate universe.

Barsad casts a lidded gaze across the conquered village. They had gone down easily, little struggle. It was wise for them. They had razed others to the ground before and perhaps they would not do the same to this one.

Perhaps.

In truth, it is not his decision, it is up to the village and how wise they are in their tribute to their new conquerors. Barsad had fought by his warrior brother’s side as he always did, and now he has been left behind in the defeated village to oversee the collection of tribute. Bane has already gone on ahead with their sister and the other members of their nomadic tribe. This village does not seem to have much to offer them, and Barsad is sure he will catch up with them in a day or so. 

He certainly does not expect to be lead away from the small granary of the village with a promise of something more valuable, something that has been set aside for his brother. It is an amusing offer, to try and placate Bane himself. This is not the first village to assume that it is he who rules the tribe. Talia never bothers to offer correction; such a thing is beneath her.

He enters into a larger cabin, one made of logs, something that has always privately fascinated Barsad. His home has always been mobile, never living in one area much longer than a cycle of the moon, and he cannot imagine the restless spirit that must grow in one when they are forever trapped behind wood and clay. He is stared at by those inside. He is used to it from villagers. The deep red markings on his body denoting his place in the tribe, the dirt that stains his hands and feet—he is not like them and he is glad for it, only embraces the looks, but soon he is the one staring.

On the floor kneels a young man, thick, dark, cropped hair, lithe limbs and eyes that are dark and wild, sparklingly beautiful in their rage. He is dressed in the thick, rough trousers and patchy shirts that the men of this village wear, so different from the simple animal skin Barsad keeps wrapped around his waist, secured with his leather belt and nothing more. The boy’s wrists are bound and he is gagged, yet even still he struggles beautifully, only constant hands on his shoulders keeping him still.

Barsad has only to breathe in the air of the cabin for his nostrils to flare, catching the sweet, subtle scent in it. He is taken aback, suspecting a trick of sorts, before he crouches slightly and takes a fistful of the squirming boy’s hair, yanking it back to expose his throat and nosing over it, breathing in deeply and feeling the truth assault his senses as the boy goes still.

An omega.

A rare gem, a precious gift from the fertility gods, and here it is being prostrated on the floor as if he is merely a toy.

“Up,” Barsad orders roughly, and the boy is brought to his feet, a yell muffling out from under his gag. “Where did you find him?”

“He’s from our village,” one of the men holding him explains, “he’s an orphan, and just went through his differentiation recently. We want to give him to Bane, specifically…” he voice trails off and it is not hard to guess their reasoning. If Bane were to take in this omega, then it would cement this village in his good graces. “He has lain with no other, we made sure of it,” the man finally finishes.

This, this is something truly special. Their tribe is so full of alphas like Bane, like himself, and they are strong, but it is also their weakness. With the rareness of conception among alphas even with betas, the scarcity of omegas everywhere, they are at risk of becoming a dying breed.

He reaches behind the boy’s head to carefully pluck free the knot from his gag, pulling it off of him and looking at him with curiosity. “Hello, little omega.”

“Go to hell,” the boy rasps out in return.

It only makes Barsad smirk. He is quite perfect, spirited, not like those in the village bowing to him. He is above them, something to be prized, though this village clearly did not understand how prized judging by his treatment. He will be given the proper respect and treatment by their tribe, though, by Bane. This is a gift he is happy to accept on his brother’s behalf, and he plans to send out a message to him that very evening so that he can be prepared.

It is with a small pang in his chest that he realizes this is something that will separate them somewhat. He is used to being the only one in his brother’s bedding, stretching out with him after a long battle, being rutted into the furs beneath them wantonly as Bane growls over him possessively. His brother often teased him that he took his cock as fine as any omega, but now he will have one for himself and have little need for Barsad in his tent.

Still, he is pleased for him. He knows that even without their bodies joined Bane possesses a part of his heart, and Barsad possesses a part of his. He will be happy for Bane should he bond with this omega, is already smiling privately at the thought of the children he might one day swing onto his shoulders, teach how to hunt.

For now, he fixes an amused look at the boy. “Do you have a name?”

“John,” he mutters out to him as though it is a curse, and Barsad is delighted by the scowl on his lips.

“Untie him,” Barsad orders, and John is surprised by it, rubs at his wrists.

“Come along, John, we leave tonight.”

He’s unsurprised by the headshake he gets, the wild look in John’s eyes, like he is about to bolt from the cabin. Barsad has hunted many a spooked animal with that look in their eyes. He holds his hands up slowly, only gentle movements as he dismisses the men who were guarding John.

“You are being offered to Bane, John,” he points out to him carefully, and that makes the boy’s fists clench tightly.

“I don’t care about that! You can’t just give me no say in who I’m going to bond with. You can’t fucking take me out of my village. This is my HOME.”

“A home so willing to give you up to save themselves,” he points out unkindly but truthful. He sees how John bites at his check at that, how his lips form an angry scowl. “Surely you deserve better than that.”

“Better,” he spits out dryly, “with Bane. The man who came through our village and burned down our fields, killed our guards.”

“We are warriors, fighting is in our blood,” he replies without remorse, “but not in our tribe. We do not fight amongst ourselves, or hurt those in our family. Bane is the best mate you could ever hope for.”

John does not believe him, not in the slightest. It only proves he is intelligent enough not to trust the words of a stranger, though Barsad does speak the truth. He finds himself changing tactics.

“The men here, they said you are an orphan,” he pauses at the clouded look in John’s eyes at that. “Then what true ties can you have here?”

“It’s my home,” John says, frustrated, his hands tightening in his anger. “You wouldn’t fucking understand. I know about your tribe. You don’t have a home.”

Barsad laughs outright at how John says it as though it is true and an accusation about them. He reaches to smack his shoulder, startling him. “We have no permanent dwellings, little omega, but we have a home just the same. Our home is our family, our tribe, and you will be welcomed into it.”

It is clear John doesn’t understand such a notion, but how can he? He does not have a home at all; he only has wood and clay enclosing him.

“You will come with me, John. Your village has given you away. I will not force you do go, but do you really think you will be welcome here if you refuse?”

John clenches his jaw. Barsad’s words are sinking in and he knows they are true. There is a sense of defeat in his eyes that Barsad does not care for at all. This will be a joyful time for him, for their tribe.

“Fret not, you will understand soon and be happy with your choice.”

“I haven’t fucking made a choice.”

“You will, and you will join me at dawn at the gates of the village,” he says as he squeezes his shoulders in camaraderie and leaves him for the night.

He sends out his falcon with a message for his brother and sister, knowing they will be pleased and that Bane will have time to prepare himself for his new mate. A bonding with an omega is rare and a thrilling time for their tribe. Barsad is certain they will make camp and begin preparing for the celebration and ceremony right away.

In no time, he is asleep happily on his bedding under the stars, not able to stand the thought of sleeping inside of wood when the air is perfect against his skin, when the Goddess who lives in the moon is smiling down at them all with good fortune. He wakes when the morning dawn kisses his skin and he packs up his bedding, stretches slowly, greeting the brilliant pinkening hue of the sky with outstretched fingers.


	2. Chapter 2

There isn’t much for him to pack, and John isn’t really sure how he feels about that. On the one hand he doubts he could bring much anyway, no home to put things into, on the other it makes this all seem so easy, like he’s never truly belonged here to begin with, like this was all just a quiet placeholder for him until he was sent off to be subjugated by some conquering alpha.

He ends up with just a set of clothes or two, and if that isn’t pathetic he doesn’t know what is. He ends up spending the rest of the evening saying goodbye to the kids in the village. Since he differentiated, he hadn’t been allowed to do the “hard” labor he used to do as a kid to earn his keep, but he’d been allowed to watch over the kids, play with them. It’s something considered good practice, much more becoming for an omega, and it would make John angrier if he didn’t love doing it. They're the reason that he's going along peacefully.

The kids are sad to see him go. Most don’t understand, and he doesn’t want to upset them. In a town almost entirely consisting of betas, most children don’t even learn about differentiating until much older. Instead, he tells them he’s leaving because he’d like to go out and see new things. Most want to come with him, wrap around his legs and demand it even. He laughs a little sadly and hugs them goodbye.

When the village’s rooster crows, he groans in annoyance, not used to actually having to get up with it, but some water on his face and a stretch lets him get out of his bed. It’s not a great bed, but it’s a bed, and John is pretty sorry to leave it basically for forever. Nomadic means he doubts he’ll ever be getting a decent night of sleep again. No wonder the jackass who is toting him off wakes up at dawn with ease.

Speaking of, he should probably learn his name. Later, after he’s done wishing he knew how to curse someone.

It’s a short walk to the gates of the village. They should be closed this early in the morning, but he can see the other man there, his arms stretched up towards the sun and his eyes closed against the soft rays. John doesn’t think he’s being loud, but the man turns before he can say anything, as if he can sense him without a sound. His lips curve into a pleased smile.

“Good rising, little brother,” he greets him pleasantly, and John makes a face in return, scrubbing his hands over his eyes.

“Let’s just get this over with.”

That draws a laugh from other man, and John jerks when he pats his shoulder. He isn’t used to being randomly touched except by the kids, especially after his differentiation when people decided that he was made of silk, or maybe glass.

“They have a head start. I have sent them a message to set up camp and wait, but it will likely take us several days to catch up with our tribe.”

“ _Your_ tribe,” John says stiffly. He’s not letting anyone fool him here. This is to keep the kids in the village safe. He decided that last night. This man might not be saying it, but he knows just how little use his tribe has for a conquered village beyond the supplies they can pull from it, and little reason not to burn it to the ground. He can remember the fighting well enough, having been made to hide away with the children, only doing it so he could barricade them into the room and stand brandishing a heavy candlestick, watching the door, ready to do his best to take out anyone who came through.

Speaking of supplies, John doesn’t see much of them; in fact he barely sees anything. “Where’s all of the shit you took from us?”

“It would only slow us down. It will be gathered on another day if needed. You are much more important to bring home.”

Great. He’s a much more important commodity than a sack of grain. He spits the thought out sarcastically and the other man pauses in gathering his things, fixing him with eyes that are relaxed but so intent, staring into his.

“You are not a ‘commodity’, little brother. You are a sacred gift, something the gods have blessed us with. More than that, you are family, precious and valued.”

John swallows at how _serious_ he sounds, like John is some treasure he has found and that it’s his honor just to be there welcoming him. He shakes off the thought quickly.

“Let’s just go,” he mutters and follows after the man, Barsad. He learns his name not long after, with a polite apology that it wasn’t given before. It’s strange just to start walking off. It’s not long before he’s farther away from the village than he’s ever been, before it’s nothing more than a dot in the distance, and then not even that. It’s hard to ignore the tightness in his chest at that. His village took him in as an orphan, kept him alive; it wasn’t perfect, but it was home.

He tries to keep his mind off of it by focusing on Barsad. He wonders how he can stand to be walking for hours in bare feet, with the sun shining down on his practically bare skin. His own feet are feeling sore already, not that he’s going to admit it when he’s sure they’ve only been walking an hour or so, but his shoes are old, worn, and he can feel them rubbing against the heels of his feet uncomfortably. It’s too warm, too; at least it is with the sun shining down through the forest’s trees. He can feel sweat beading on his forehead, starting to be wicked away by his shirt.

When Barsad starts asking him questions about himself, he starts answering just to take his mind off of how uncomfortable he is.

“Were your parents both betas?”

John shrugs and smacks at some of the stinging gnats gathering around him, cursing. “I don’t know. I didn’t really understand that stuff when I was a kid, and no one in the village remembers them well enough to tell me.”

“It was a long while ago, then, that you lost them?”

“Yeah.” He’s not going to elaborate, and feels relieved when Barsad doesn’t seem to expect him to.

“Mine were both alphas,” he says instead, his voice softer as he thinks about it. “They told me I was an unexpected gift.” He smiles softly. “A piece of heaven sent down for them, when they thought that they would never conceive.” He casts his glance back at John a moment, then stops when he notices how he’s trying to swat away bugs. “They’re attracted to your sweat.”

“Yeah, well, I can’t help sweating,” he says, annoyed.

“Take off your shirt, it will help. I am not even certain how you can stand wearing it, or those shoes.”

John blinks in surprise and can’t help but snort a little. “I was kind of wondering the opposite about you.”

“Me?” Barsad sounds bewildered then tips his head back, laughing. “We were raised quite differently. Your clothes are for a village, mine are for a tribe, I suppose. I have a spare; you would be cooler.”

He shakes his head quickly, thinking about just how ridiculous he’d probably look, and settles for stripping off his shirt, slinging it over his shoulder, trying not to feel self-conscious about it. Barsad is smaller than him, but he’s all whipcord muscle on his lean frame, a warrior’s body, and John is, well, John. Barsad waits for him to finish before they start off again and John admits he feels better, is sweating less without the wool against his chest.

“Will you tell me more about yourself, little brother?”

“I do have a name,” he points out because he’s not about to call Barsad his older brother or something. It’s weird. “And there isn’t much to tell you. My parents died, I was raised in my village, I’m an omega, apparently, and that means I get to be sold off like a whore. The end.”

“What is a whore?” Barsad asks, clearly confused.

“It—” he really didn’t think he’d have to _explain_ that. It’s not like he’s exactly experienced even, and he feels stupid at the slight flush to his cheeks. “It’s, you know, someone who gets paid to have sex.”

Barsad looks almost sad for him, reaching to touch his arm. “Is that how you feel this is for you? I’m sorry, little brother, but you will see. You are not being taken merely for sex.”

“You wouldn’t fucking understand at all,” John finally snaps, his temper flaring up, “how would you fucking feel if you were an omega?”

“Honored,” Barsad replies softly, surprising John.

“Sure, you say that without even knowing what it’s like,” John says in response. “It makes you weak. Fucking needy. I haven’t even had a full heat, yet, and I know that. It’s humiliating, to want someone so bad it feels like you’re going to break, to be fucking wet for it,” he feels his face flush when he says it. “There’s no honor in that.”

Barsad only smiles. “I meant it would be an honor to bring children into the tribe, little brother, to be able to bear them for my brother. We had hoped to, but have never been gifted in such a way. I am happy for you both,” he finishes, sounding almost wistful.

“Wait, are you and Bane—”

“He is my warrior brother,” Barsad says, as if that explains everything. When it doesn’t, he continues, “He has held my heart since we were only youths together. There is no part of me that is not his to do with as he wishes; it is my pleasure for him to find his own inside of me.”

John stares, feeling almost speechless, but he manages to blurt, “Alphas don’t do _that_.”

It makes Barsad laugh, reaching out to ruff his hair affectionately. “It is quite pleasurable.”

“Is it?” he asks without meaning to, feeling stupid, but Barsad doesn’t laugh at that, seems to sense the slight anxiousness in the question.

“It is; my brother is a wonderful lover,” Barsad assures him, and it’s said so seriously that John can’t help but laugh sharply. Barsad grins slightly at seeing it, and he can feel tension letting go in his chest. He’s still not happy about this, but Barsad he kind of likes. He’s earnest and nice to him when he’s pretty sure he doesn’t have to be, nicer than he thought a bloodthirsty warrior would ever be.

“What about after he has me?”

Barsad’s face turns more somber. The wistful look is back as he glances up through the trees to get their bearings. “I will miss his touch, but I will be happy for your bond, for the joy you will share,” he glances to him and gives a small smile. “And I hope that you will see me as a brother, one day, too. It will be my honor to fight by your side.”

John narrows his eyes in confusion. “I don’t exactly think I’ll be fighting, Barsad.” Barsad seems to have a misconstrued idea of what it meant to be an omega. “I’m sure Bane will want to keep his little omega hidden away safely,” he can’t but say the last part bitterly.

“Not at all,” Barsad touches the back of his hand, and John thinks he’s trying to reassure him, doesn’t feel the need to jerk back as much as before. “You seem to have a very narrow view of what an omega can be. Bane will desire his mate fierce and fighting by his side.”

That’s new, and John finds it pretty hard to believe that Bane would let him come into harm’s way. The one thing that’s been done to him since he differentiated is that he’s be protected endlessly, been treated like he is one of the children he’s been spending so much time with, so much so that it’s been making his skin itch. The idea that Bane would what, give him a weapon and put him beside him in a battle? He can’t even fathom it. But Barsad looks so _sure_ about it, and he’s known Bane since they were young. John isn’t so sure he wants to be off fighting, but the idea that maybe he won’t be treated like he’s made of glass, well, it has its appeal.

“Ok,” he says quietly, not outright accepting, but not denying the possibility, and Barsad looks pleased with him, pauses in their trek and slides one of the knives from his belt, placing it into John’s hands.

“Let me gift you your first blade, little warrior.”

He touches over the blade curiously and grips the hilt. “It’s yours, though…”

“And now it is yours. A gift from one brother to another,” Barsad insists, and John nods quietly, tucking it into his belt with a quiet thank you. He doesn’t want to make a big deal about it. It’s just a knife, but, well, he’s not sure he’s actually had someone give him a present before.


	3. Chapter 3

By the time the sun is at its highest, John feels like he might collapse. Even Barsad looks ready for a rest, and John is relieved when he finds a small stream. He bites back a wince when he dips his raw-feeling feet into the chilly water, and they practically scream in protest, but after a few moments the cool numb sets in and he groans. When Barsad hands him some dried meat from his pack, he’s happy to gobble it down.

“Will you need a long rest?”

“I’m ok,” he says, and apparently Barsad realizes just how much bullshit it is because he touches his shoulder lightly.

“You have done well. You are not used to traveling as I am. Rest while I find something for our evening meal.”

John only nods, quietly relieved at not being made to put his shoes on again so quickly. Barsad leaves his bedroll behind and he leans against it, closing his eyes, only to rest them for a few minutes while he listens to the sound of the forest. It’s nice, tranquil, only the quiet rushing of the small stream and the chill of it swishing through his toes.

“You look very peaceful,” the words are murmured softly enough that they don’t startle. There’s a gentle brush of fingers over his forehead and it brings him out of the light doze, makes him blink blearily up at Barsad as he crouches over him, a bunch of wild asparagus neatly tied and tucked under his arm along with what John thinks Is a pouch of wild berries tied to his belt. "I am sorry to disturb you."

"S'ok," John mumbles out, and Barsad's fingers feel sort of good threading through his hair, soothing. He waits for Barsad to make him get up and get back to walking, but he doesn't, he settles onto the grass beside him and lets John rest, speaking softly, telling him about the tribe.

"Our sister will adore you," he says as he talks about her, how she rules the tribe.

"Wait," the information pulls him a little out of his relaxed daze, "not Bane?"

"Talia is a fierce warrior in her own right, but her strategic intelligence is more needed, so it is Bane who takes the lead into battle in her name."

"And you let everyone think he runs the show," John realizes as he sits up slowly to face him, "because that's scarier."

Barsad only grins in acknowledgment. "Are you ready to resume our journey?"

____________________

Barsad watches as John groans and sits up slowly. He realizes this is already more than John has ever walked in his life and he commends him for being willing to do it without a fuss. In truth, he has only stopped their trip to give the younger man a break when it seemed liked his reserves were truly ebbing. He looks at how raw John's heels and ankles look. Rubbed raw by the leather of his shoes.  This time when he suggests walking without them, John is more open to the idea, reluctant to slip his shoes back on.

"I will lead you on a path that will protect your feet,” Barsad promises as he slings his pack back over his back. When John asks, Barsad happily gives him the wild plants to carry, thanking him for his thoughtfulness.

They travel again, and he is pleased that the cool dirt of the forest floor seems to do better for John's feet. They aren't as tough-skinned as Barsad's which have never seen a shoe in their existence, so Barsad is careful to lead him away from sharper rocks and thorns. He follows the stream of water, knowing his tribe prefers to do the same, setting up their camp near it. By the time the sun is beginning to sink into the horizon, he can feel John dropping again, is feeling worn himself.

"We'll rest here for the night," he tells John who lets his shoulders drop and his head drop back. Barsad rubs the back of his neck briefly. "You did very well."

"I'm not a little kid," is all he receives in response, but he seems quietly pleased over the praise. "We have to set up a camp, right? What do we do?"

Barsad had thought to leave him out of it, to forgo a fire and simply let them tumble into his bedroll together to share warmth and let John rest, but there is such a curious look in his eyes that Barsad cannot deny him.

They gather kindling and wood together. He shows John how to make a fire roar to life, and they sit around it eating sweet, tart berries and chewing on crisp fresh stalks of wild asparagus. With his shirt and shoes gone, with red berry juice staining his lips and fingers and dirt streaked across his skin, John looks less like the villager he met the previous night. He looks more like a brother of the tribe, and in the fire's glow, he is struck by the beauty of him, almost feels a pang of envy for his brother who will soon know what it is like to have such a lovely omega in his bed. It is a fleeting thought, for he truly is happy for them both.

John hesitates to share his bedding, then snorts and drops down beside him on it when Barsad teases him, promises he will not bite. The fire is warm and the bedding is cozy, but there is still a chill in the air. When John shivers, Barsad hesitates a moment before wrapping an arm around his chest, an innocent gesture in his tribe, an offer to share warmth and camaraderie. It is not rebuffed, and Barsad is lulled to sleep by the sound of crickets, the crackle of the fire dwindling, and the steady rise and fall of John's chest beneath his palm.

There is only the light of the moon when he wakes to the sharp snap of a stick.

He is alert, body tense; something is wrong. He clasps his hand over John's mouth, startling him awake and making him thrash until he whispers harshly to be quiet and still.

"Can you climb?"

It gets an uncertain nod and he pats his shoulder.

"Good. The closest tree. On my mark."

The muscles under his hand tense and he listens to the too-quiet, the deadly, telling still in the air, then the sudden low growl.

"Go!"

He jumps up with him, waits until he sees John's fingers scrabble at a low branch, his longs legs swinging up to wrap around it and tug himself up. His relief is short lived as he grabs for his long knife, one short for having given the other to John. He wishes he had his blow darts for hunting, none can out aim him with them, but this was not meant to be a hunt.

Now he runs, calm, slow breaths, as he hears the roar. A bear, he has hunted many, but it is a bad time for them, the time of year when they are at their most lean and hungry, their most dangerous, and he is a group hunter, needs his tribe to take down such a fierce creature. Now he only tries to lure it away from John, knowing well enough that a bear can easily climb, but hoping he makes enough of a distraction that it never even catches wind of John as he tries to come up with a plan.

What he does not plan for is John to be quite as foolhardy and brave as he is.

The bear is not following him. When he realizes this, worry races through him and he turns and runs back to their small encampment. There is John, having ripped one of the dry, leafy branches off of the tree he has scaled and dipped it into the dying embers of their fire, making the branch blaze to life as he brandishes it at the bear, shouting.

The bear is rearing back, snarling and batting at the fire, not deterred enough by it to miss a meal. Barsad's heart skips a beat when he sees those deadly claws swiping at John. There is a gasp, a low cry of pain when they catch his shoulder, and blood runs down it, painting the dirt as he rolls out of the way.

The bear lumbers after him, and Barsad cannot let him catch his meal. He leaps forward with his blade gripped tightly between his hands, feeling it sink into the bear’s back. There is a pained roar as it slides home into muscle and sinew, as his wrists sink into thick black fur.

It's not enough. There is blood spraying, thick and hot against his hand and face, and he has caught something vital, but the beast is not felled. He throws him off and Barsad crunches back into a fallen log, sharp pain lighting up his body and momentarily paralyzing him, making his knife fall from his blood-slicked fingers. There is a heavy blur over him and more blood. He holds his arm up defensively and feels teeth and sharp and pain and hopes that at least John will be able to run while he is mauled, that maybe he can reach his knife and do enough damage before the end to ensure it. His other hand reaches for the knife and his fingers dig into dirt and grass, brushing over the hilt before he can grab it tight.

Over him though there are rough, desperate yells. He can hear the sound of knife meeting flesh again and again even as sharp teeth and bone crush into the meat of his arm. His little brother is coming to his aid, refusing to abandon him, and the grip on his arm weakens. He can wrench it free and roll out from beneath the suffocating weight, grab for his own knife and dig it into the heavy skin of the bear’s throat, feel the massive creature shudder under him and collapse.

They both are bleeding and their sides heave as they gasp for air. Adrenaline courses through them both and it overrides the pain of their wounds. They turn to look at one another slowly, and there is a grin on Barsad's face after he sees John is laughing in relief.

"You are a true warrior brother!" Barsad cries out to him happily, meaning every word. He had been clever and fearless, willing to risk his own life for him, everything a warrior brother does for the tribe. There is no doubt in his mind that John belongs with them, and even through the pain lighting up his arm he grasps up John’s cheeks in his hands and kisses him.

It is meant to be nothing more. He has shared such kisses of joy with his fellow warrior brothers and sisters after the heat of a thrilling hunt, a deadly battle; they are common place.

But it is something else entirely.

 


	4. Chapter 4

When his lips touch John’s, it is like he is struck by lightning, like a current is buzzing through him, and lighting his very soul on fire. He cannot breathe, cannot think, in that moment he can only feel John, feel the soft whimper against his lips as the same sensations course through him and make them wrap up in each other’s arms, open their mouths hungrily and taste each other more as instincts and pheromones seize up and take control. He growls against John’s mouth and bites at his lip, holds his cheeks still and tastes his sweet omega.

  
It is that blasphemous thought that drags him out of his euphoria. His omega, everything in his body screams for him to throw John onto the ground and rut into him, breed him as he squirms in bliss under him, bucks up onto his cock, into his hands with pleasure. When he snaps back, lets go and stumbles backwards, he is panting for air and wiping his mouth. John whimpers in confusion, mouth still open and receptive for him until he opens his clouded eyes.

“W-what?"

“N-nothing.” He shakes his head quickly in denial. “It is nothing.” Because it cannot be. It cannot be anything. This is his brother’s new mate, and he cannot be so compatible with him that they have imprinted on one another with a simple kiss. It simply cannot be.

“It wasn’t—”

“Let me see your arm,” Barsad interrupts him, still trying to catch his breath, trying not to take in how sweet John smells suddenly, how crisp it is in the air even over the scent of blood. It is making his head swim and his blood run even hotter as he can smell John growing even more intoxicating with each moment. He has to be careful not to grip too tightly into his arm as he examines the deep scratches in it.

“We’ll clean them, but they will heal well, leave good scars.”

“I’m not worried about me; you’re fucking bleeding all over _everything_.”

He is, and he can barely feel it still, can only focus on how John is moving closer. He can almost hear his heartbeat pounding faster as their bodies press together again and they’re kissing once more, desperately.

“John,” he murmurs it against his mouth, trying to will himself to be strong, “little brother, we cannot.” Even as he says it, he is catching up those sweet, soft lips again, feeling them slide against his own slickly, just wanting one more taste. He brings his good arm up to brush his hand down John’s spine, feeling him sink against him. He wants to taste more of him, wants to knot deeply into him, tie them together and seal their bond as alpha and omega, but he is loyal. He is so loyal to his brother, and it is only that and perhaps the pain sinking into his body that is enough to pull him from this bliss that lets him drag away from John once more.

“I feel hot,” John whines softly. His throat is flushed so beautifully red, and Barsad wants to bite it, lick across it and cover it with his scent.

“You’re alright,” he soothes gently instead, running his fingers through his hair until his lashes flutter open and his brown eyes clear slightly at the sight of his mangled arm, widening at the realization of how bad it is.

“Let me take care of _you._ God, it looks like it’s going to fucking drop off of you.”

Barsad laughs slightly, pain beginning to set in more and clearing his head. “It is not as bad as that. Do you know how to bandage it?”

He sits down on the ground and they rip up strips of bedding. John at least knows how to bandage, and they clean the bite out. John wraps the strips around his arm, tying them neatly, tightly enough to help keep the blood from oozing out but not enough to constrict his circulation.

“What happened?” John finally asks as he stares down at his arm. Barsad watches and feels his body heat up at how his tongue peaks out to flick over his lips nervously.

“It is nothing. It’s best that we don’t even speak of it.” If John does not know, then there is no reason to tell him, and subsequently there will be no reason to tell Bane.

But John is persistent. “It wasn’t _nothing,_ Barsad. I… I feel funny.” He shakes his head trying to clear it, leaning in closer to him. “You, you smell different, too… good, really good,” he mumbles out the last part as his nose touches to Barsad’s shoulder, breathing him in slowly, making him ache in response. Even in the moonlight, he can see how John’s cock is stiff, outlined in his pants. The feeling is more than mutual.

Barsad sighs and touched his cheek, knowing he shouldn’t. He is just making it worse. How John dips his head towards his hand is thrilling, though, his smooth skin wonderful just to touch, to rub his thumb in a small circle over it.

“It was unintentional, but we must be very compatible,” he explains quietly, not wanting to meet his eyes but unable to help staring into the soft brown there as it watches him in a cloudy confusion, “when we exchanged fluids… kissed… you imprinted on me. It’s sending you into a heat, making you ready for me so we can complete the fledgling bond that’s started.”

John’s eyes flare in surprise at that and Barsad winces. “Please, it’s nothing—”

“It’s not nothing, I haven’t even gone into a real heat yet!” John pulls back, looking anxious at the thought. Barsad thinks to soothe him, his brain whispering that _his_ omega was upset and needs to be helped, comforted. His fingers twitch at the thought of running them through John’s dark locks. He drops his hands down to his side, instead, clenching them into fists and focusing on the pain in his arm.

“It’s just the start of one; you still have a few days before it will be something full-fledged. I truly didn’t mean to, John. I would never do such a thing purposefully.”

____________________

John feels like his heart is going to pound its way right out of his chest. He can’t calm down, his shoulder burns, his whole body burns, and the adrenaline coursing through him from their near-fatal encounter is far from helping. He can feel the blood from the bear drying on his chest still, fur stuck into it, making him unpleasantly sticky and itchy.

But all of that is only in the very back of his mind because he can’t stop focusing on how amazing Barsad smells. Once they clean up and wash away the blood from the bear, it’s even worse. That kiss, it’s like it shifted something inside of him, rearranged his insides, and now he’s going to burn into ash. He’s upset, of course, but he can’t be angry at Barsad because he can see how visibly upset Barsad is right along with him, how he keeps trying to comfort him without touching, how his eyes keep staring intensely into his before they tear away and focus elsewhere.

“What do we do?” he finally asks quietly once they were both cleaned up and bandaged properly, stinking less like bear and blood.

“Nothing changes.” Barsad shakes his head, picking up his knife and wiping it clean. “This is just an unfortunate thing. We will try to be quicker to get to Bane so you do not have to suffer through a heat by yourself.”

“Great,” he mutters out, looking for his own knife, finding it still firmly wedged in the back of the bear. They could race back to Barsad’s tribe so that he could get fucked by a total stranger and probably be so deep in his first heat that he’d love it. He doesn’t know any other omegas, but he knows the stories, has been told what he should expect, and he isn’t looking forward to it. He had thought that maybe, just maybe, he’d get a chance to get to know Bane first, to be able to at least talk to him, to try to see all of the good things that Barsad seemed to find in him and maybe find them himself so he’d be ok with being his omega.

This was just his luck.

“There’s a few hours until sunrise; rest some,” Barsad tries, and John wants to refuse but his entire body is still tired from the travel yesterday, from their sudden, harrowing battle with the bear, from everything in his body that is betraying him, and he nods before he drops onto the bedding, curling into a ball on it, waiting for Barsad to come tuck up behind him like before.

He doesn’t, and he lifts his head, looking over at Barsad who is staring into the almost dead embers of the fire, stirring them around with a stick and blowing on them softly to encourage a spark to the new wood he’s put there.

“You should rest, too.”

“I’m going to keep watch. We have had enough danger for tonight,” Barsad tells him as he stares into the coals, and John is pretty sure he doesn’t mean just the bear, as close of a call as that was. When he goes to sleep, he feels too warm inside but too cold on the outside even with the newly stoked fire. He catches Barsad’s strong, tantalizing scent whenever the wind shifts it towards him, and as he burrows under the bedding he wishes it were wrapped around him and keeping him warm.

He wakes up to the scent of cooked meat and the light of the sun shining against his eyelids. His arm is throbbing and his whole body feels sluggish, like he has a cold, making him feel lethargic. He’s felt it before when he’s gone into his early false heats, but not this strongly, and not when there’s an alpha close by that smells so good it makes him want to curl up around him and breathe him in contently, scent every bit of him.

Instead, he rubs his eyes, feeling grumpy, shaking his head when Barsad offers him some of the bear meat. “I’m not hungry.”

“You need to keep your energy up. This will be difficult enough even with it,” Barsad coaxes softly, and he sits down beside him. John leans against him and it makes everything feel so much better to be able to have their skin touching. Barsad goes still, seeming torn on if he should move or not, but John snakes an arm around him, needs to touch.

“Don’t. I’ll eat if you just don’t move.” He hates how pathetic it sounds. He’s so used to being a loner beyond the kids, and now all he wants is skin contact. He sighs out happily when Barsad’s hand pats his own lightly.

“Alright, little brother, eat for me, then.”

He takes the meat, not really hungry, still, but wanting Barsad against him so he bites into it. It’s good, gamey but not too much, and he finds himself eating more than he thought he could originally, especially when Barsad encourages, points out that it’s not like they can take the entire bear with them. As it is, he has already skinned it while John slept, tells John that even with the knife cuts it will make a good fur, a remembrance of their battle together.

“Speaking of,” he holds something out for him, a claw, “this is your prize, one of the claws that marked you. When we are home, we will make a necklace of it for you.”

“You should have one of his teeth, then,” John points out as he takes it, feeling a flush of mixed emotions over the thoughtfulness of the gesture.

“I do,” Barsad holds out a thick fang for him to see. “We will wear them together, a sign of our brotherhood.”

John stares down at the claw in his hand for a moment before he squeezes it in his palm.

“Ok.”


	5. Chapter 5

He grumbles when Barsad pulls away from him, coaxes him into getting up and drinking some water from the stream before they start walking. He leaves his shoes behind. His feet feel better without them, and it feels like just one more thing to carry. He already feels like he’s moving slowly enough as it is.

Barsad doesn’t complain, though. He just walks with him, points out different plants and their names, what’s dangerous and what’s not. John knows a lot of it, but there’s plenty of plants they pass that he’s never seen before, and it’s a good distraction from the heat pooling in his belly. Barsad doesn’t stay close, is always a few paces ahead even if John speeds up his walking just to be able to smell him a little better. It’s frustrating, and neither of them talks about it.

During one of their breaks, Barsad sleeps, having gotten much less than John the night before. John watches him as he lies out on the bedroll, how his lean, muscled chest slowly rises and falls, the sharp cut of his cheekbones and the scars and ink on his body. He swallows hard and tries not to think about it, how sweet and brave Barsad has been, how he tried to sacrifice his life for him the night before without even a moment of hesitation, how loyal he is being now.

It’s just his heat. He has to keep reminding himself that, that it’s just his heat that is making him think of what a good mate Barsad would be.

But that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t sneak up close to him on the bedding and curl up at his side, getting wrapped around in moments protectively even with Barsad’s bad arm. He nuzzles in contently, wanting more, craving something he’s never even had, but this feels wonderful, too, and he slides his arm around Barsad in return, sighing contently and sleeping easily beside him.

John wakes up to a hair tousle. Barsad doesn’t reprimand him for snuggling up to him. He even holds him for a few minutes longer when John can’t keep a slight noise of disappointment from escaping his throat.

“I’m sorry,” Barsad apologizes, and John nuzzles his throat in response to the gentle words, the stroke through his hair.

“You didn’t mean to,” is all he can think to say. His brain feels like it’s on a slow simmer and it just keeps getting progressively worse. When they’re walking again, he heats up so fast, has to take more breaks to sit and splash cool stream water on his face. By the time it’s nightfall, his cock has more than just the annoying half-stiffness that’s been chafing against his pants all day. He’s so hard now, and it’s embarrassing how much it aches, how much he wants to be touched there, everywhere. It’s maddening and he forces more food down only because he knows already that Barsad will worry if he doesn’t.

 “We should meet up with them in perhaps several more days,” Barsad tells him, and John chokes down a whimper with the bite of rabbit Barsad has caught. He doesn’t know how he’s going to make it through several more days of _this._

He nearly throws himself onto the bedding that night, frustrated and having no outlet for it because it’s only aimed at himself, that he can’t control his own body. At least he isn’t getting wet yet. He hopes that at least holds out for a while. He’s had it happen during his faux heats, been mortified when it leaked down his thighs and soaked his pants. Apparently his body is really good at it, and he doesn’t want to know how much worse it might be with a real heat.

Now if Barsad would just come fucking cuddle him, he would feel better.

But he doesn’t, he’s tending the fire carefully, looking out into the darkness surrounding them.

“It would be foolish for us both to sleep again at the same time during the night.”

“Because of the bear or because we’ll probably try to fuck in our sleep?” he can’t help but ask snappishly.

It gets a wince and Barsad shakes his head. “Both.”

“Wake me when it’s my watch,” John grunts irritably and rolls over to face away from him.

“You need the rest more—” Barsad starts to say, but John sits up suddenly and stares at him past the fire.

“So you’re all about not treating me like I’m weaker unless I’m in a heat? Don’t treat me like glass. You’re the first person in a long time to not treat me like I’m going to splinter to pieces with just a touch.”

He yelps when Barsad throws a clod of dirt at his head, snickering.

“You jerk!”

“I didn’t want you to think I was treating you like glass,” Barsad says as John wipes the dirt off of his face, then he looks more somber. “I did not mean to imply that your heat was making you weak.”

John scoffs, but a smile pulls at his lips. He throws the dirt from the bedding in Barsad’s direction before he flops back down to sleep. Barsad wakes him partway through the night to take his shift and he hates him for it until the sleep finally leaves his head and he realizes that Barsad really does trust him enough to keep him safe while he sleeps, heat or not.

He tries really hard not to use the little bit of privacy to jerk himself raw. The only thing that prevents it is the realization of just how awful it would be for him to left his guard down doing that of all things and having something happen. As it is, he watches Barsad sleep, listens to the forest, and manages not to fall asleep until it’s his turn for a little more rest.

At dawn, he gives in and trades his pants for Barsad’s spare loin cloth, the animal skin much easier to walk and keep cool in. His erection is no less obvious, but he was never trying to hide it, there wouldn’t be much a point. They both know right now that if Barsad wanted, if he just ran his hands slowly along John’s body, then he’d come apart for him, try to spread himself to be taken.

He shivers and tries to shake off the thought. “Tell me more about Bane,” he says weakly instead, and Barsad does. It doesn’t take him long to realize that, while impressive, John doesn’t really care to hear much about their battles together, and he soon changes stories. His face softens slightly as he talks.

“I had been gored badly by a wild boar,” his fingers trace a scarred pucker of skin on his side absently, “we were far out on a hunt together. He carried me the entire way back, made me keep speaking to him the entire time, laughed at my incoherent babblings and kissed me sweetly when he thought that he was truly loosing me.” John sees how he looks almost shyer then, a small smile pulling on his lips as he admits, “I could taste his sorrow and it may seem strange… but it is one of my favorite memories.”

“Because it showed you how much he cared?”

Barsad nods quickly, not meeting his eyes at that. “I knew it already, but it is another thing to feel it poured back onto you.”

“Tell me something else,” John asks quickly because now he feels bad. He didn’t ask for any of this, but he still feels like he’s putting a wedge between Bane and Barsad without even having met Bane yet.

Barsad tells him other stories, about growing up with Bane, about their sister, Talia, and how they helped her rise in the tribe until now she rules over them all with fierceness and grace. He tells him stories about all three of them growing up, of the time Talia’s hair had to be shorn short because Bane accidentally gunked it up with tree sap, of Talia’s retaliation of putting a skunk into Bane’s tent while he was sleeping, then the subsequent event of Talia finding out that Barsad and Bane had been exploring one another’s bodies because they had both ran out of the tent reeking of skunk and bare. That has them both laughing and Barsad flashes a grin at him.

“We reeked for weeks on end. It was fortunate we were content to be with one another, because no one else desired to be near us.”

That has them laughing again and it makes it easier to last through the day. The stories about Bane make him feel better, like he’s really not just going into this with no idea what to expect, that Bane might actually be someone he’ll like.

The night is harder. Barsad turns in first this time, and once John doesn’t have his stories, all he can focus on is how his blood feels like it’s boiling, made worse by how warm the night is, or maybe it only feels so warm. He rubs his hand slowly up and down his thigh, willing himself to calm down. He considers going and laying down in the stream just to chill himself and whimpers in frustration, goes over to sit down close to Barsad on the bedding.

It wakes him, and they’re closer than they have been all day with Barsad keeping a careful distance from him. Now he can take in his scent properly and his head drops back, his shoulders loosening over how good his alpha smells. He watches as Barsad peers up, shifts so that his head is resting on his arm. He doesn’t ask if John is alright. They both know John isn’t alright, he only waits.

“Can I just… can I just lay down here, please? I’ll stay awake,” he promises, hating how much it sounds like he’s trying to promise to ‘be a good little omega,’ but he needs Barsad close. He needs more than that, but that’s something he won’t be getting, so he _really_ needs this.

____________________

Barsad doesn’t try to fight something that he’s wanted all night and the night before. It’s nothing. It’s just John’s wonderful scent, that he’s quite unused to sleeping alone anymore, that poor John needs some comfort.

He pulls him down to lie beside him without a word, feeling slightly guilty at admiring all of his pretty, flushed skin. He curls his damaged arm around him carefully and feels warm as John gently touches over the bandages. John sighs then, sagging against Barsad in relief. There can be no harm in it, surely. He pulls him closer and takes in his beautiful scent, lets his brain content itself with the thought of his omega being close by and safe before he is able to settle in to sleep again.


	6. Chapter 6

The shuddery breaths wake him. He wonders if John has fallen asleep, is being tempted in a heated dream, teased, but he has kept his word and not slept through his watch. Instead, Barsad has to catch his hand up at the wrist, stop him from furiously stroking his cock. As it is, the bedding is already sticky in front of him and the whimper of protest John makes is heartbreaking.

“I’m sorry,” he sounds vaguely embarrassed, but is still pulling at his wrist to try and get his hand free to go back to it, “I just, I can’t take it anymore, ok? I _need_ to.”

“No, I’m sorry, little brother, but it won’t help. It’s only going to work you up more like that.” John’s body is yearning for him; it recognizes a male alpha and wants to bond with it. Were it gearing up to bond with a female alpha, perhaps his hands would work. He could stroke himself off, hold his knot and try and imagine that he’s tying deep inside of an alpha woman like a good omega pup, but his body knows that that is not what will complete a bond with a male alpha, and even now Barsad cannot bite back a moan. He can smell the beginnings of John starting to grow wet for him, just the very beginning of the rich scent starting to tickle at his nose.

It’s enough to completely distract him, make him startle when John turns around to face him. More than that, his arms push Barsad onto his back on the bedding. His pupils look blown with need in the low light and Barsad wonders how long he’s been trying to ease himself, how many times he’s come and has had the heat only grow worse for him.

John practically scrambles on top of him. His fingers dig into the muscle of his shoulders and he looks wild. It thrills something in him. He knows John is untrained, he could buck him off easily, but it is a damning thing that he doesn’t _want_ to.

“It’s not fair, God, it’s not fair,” John growls as he noses at his throat, huffing deeply. His legs part and soon he’s straddling Barsad’s thigh, grinding down against him, the hot press of his cock sliding along him. “I _need_ you, God, I need you inside of me so bad,” his desperate begging tapers off into a whimper, and Barsad can feel the telltale slickness against his thigh, can smell how wet John is for him, and his head swims with it.

He lets himself wonder the blasphemous thought of just how bad it would be to give in at this point. John is so worked up, he needs him badly, and oh Barsad wants him. He has never been one to covet something of his brother’s. There has never even been the occasion. Since they have first shared bedding, first trained together, first touched one another, what has been his brother’s has always been his and the reverse was just as true. This he cannot have, though, and it is agony, unbearable when he must roll John gently off of him, stare at his smooth pink lips as he pants for air and whines, tries to curl up into his touch, to give him as much of a taste as he would like of his body.

It would be so simple. One word, one stroke and he knows John would open for him, would let himself be bred until Barsad was knotting him, biting him, marking him as his and coaxing him into doing the same.

It is no small measure of will when he leans up to kiss John’s forehead, tasting the pheromones in his sweat there trying to lure him further. “Sleep little brother,” he whispers, and John’s fists clench up, angry and miserable.

“No, NO, Barsad, _please_.”

He shushes him gently, running a hand through his damp hair. “You need to rest.”

“I _need_ to mate,” he growls back, trying to jerk his head away but unable to bring himself to scoot away from the touch.

“It’s just your heat talking, John.” He sits up slowly, guiding his head into his lap. “I would be a terrible mate for you.”

“You so wouldn’t,” John grumbles, but the tease makes him snort a little.

“I would. I would steal all of the bedding, keep you up at all hours; you would be sick of me quite quickly.”

That gets another snort and John’s hands shove at this thigh. He’s settling, the fever pitch he’d worked himself into lessening with the distraction. Barsad is grateful for that and smiles a little, pinching at John’s ear until he is grumbling and shaking his head.

“Stop, and you wouldn’t,” he mumbles quietly, “you’d… you’d be really good, I can tell. Don’t just blame the heat.”

It’s just the heat, but Barsad feels his chest warming, tightening a bit, as well. It is a strange combination, a wistfulness that has him rubbing John’s back.

“I would not, but I will be a good brother to you, I promise you that.”

“I think maybe you will be,” John says softly, barely able to be heard as he settles in more, able to sleep with his head pillowed against Barsad’s thigh.

He’s embarrassed in the morning and no less heated. With the slickness starting, his heat scent is thicker, like a perfumed cloud around him. Barsad tries not to notice how when they walk it drips down his thigh, how he cleans up in the stream each time they rest but the scent only grows, how easy it would be to simply push John up against one of the thousands of trees in the forest and fuck him until he howls with bliss.

He shakes off that thought.

John can’t keep a good pace now, not without his arm around him. Barsad isn’t sure if that makes it better or worse, being so close, but they walk a steady stride together with their supplies slung over his shoulder still. He says soft reassuring things to John, tells him that it won’t be long now, teases that he’ll be rid of him soon enough and will only be thinking about Bane once he gets a taste of him. It only helps so much. He wonders at first if it is only hindering, but when he falls quiet, John squeezes his side tightly, tells him to keep talking to him so he can focus on something else.

He talks about everything he can think of, every little story and journey that he’s ever shared with Bane, with their sister. Some stories he simply repeats, embellishing them, and in his clearer moments he has John laughing softly.

“How much longer?” he asks as he curls up on the bedding, a brief rest for them both, though Barsad is trying to do less of them; the more they move the faster they’ll catch up.

“We have been making better time then I thought. We should be with them by morning. They will be expecting us, though not the shape you are in. It should be an interesting surprise for them.”

John laughs sharply then groans, holding his stomach. He hasn’t eaten all day, not even Barsad’s prodding can convince him to take a bite, feeling too nauseated from the heat. He shifts nervously on the bedding after a moment, though. “Will he be mad?” His fingers twist at themselves a bit. “What if he doesn’t…” he stops, shaking his head.

“He won’t be mad,” Barsad promises, and he easily guesses what John won’t ask. “And he will adore you.”

How could he not? He shakes off the thought and strokes John’s cheek gently. Every minute with him feels like a temptation. He suspects that he is just as constantly hard as John now, longing to slip into him. He stubbornly reminds his body that this is not his to take, that they will catch up tomorrow with his brothers and sisters in the tribe and that he is certain he can find someone there who will have sympathy and be happy to share their bedding until he gets all of the pheromones he’s breathed in from John out of his system.

“What will happen? Is he just going to whisk me off to his tent and rut me like an animal?” John asks and groans, shaking his head in a pained amusement that he’s just managed to turn himself on further.

“Unfortunately, I think your heat will prevent much talking,” Barsad admits. “He would have preferred that, to be able to know you better first, but I know you now, do I not? And I will tell him what a wonderful handful you are.” He smirks slightly when John huffs at that. “Then I believe the bonding ritual will start that evening.”

“There’s a ritual?” John sits up slowly, and with some needling Barsad gets him to drink at least a little water before he starts rolling up the bedding.

“Of course, do you not have bonding rituals in the village?”

“Do you mean like marriage ceremonies?”

“Perhaps, I do not know what those are. I only know that there is a special one for when an omega is to be bonded with.”

“How so?” John asks warily and Barsad shrugs.

“I don’t know,” he admits, “they are so rare, I have never seen one done. Our sister will know, though. She keeps such important knowledge secure, and I am certain everything will be prepared by the time we arrive.”

“Tomorrow,” John says flatly, almost nervously.

“Yes, tomorrow.” He cannot resist a gentle stroke to his cheek before he wraps an arm around him to keep him walking again. He pushes them as far as he dares, not sure they’ll be able to endure one more night after this if they do not catch up as he hopes.

As it is, he’s not sure how they’ll survive this one.

“John, you have to eat, just a few bites, or you will have no energy.”

“I can’t, I feel like I’m going to just throw it back up.”

He sighs, trying not to feel frustrated out of worry. “Just a little, please.”

John makes a noise of refusal and curls up onto the bedding miserably, even Barsad curling up behind him and trying to coax a berry into his mouth does nothing to persuade him. He wavers a moment in indecision. It is not as if the thought has not occurred to him before, but it seems like a violation of something that is not his, even if it is done to aid, but John must eat or they will get nowhere soon. It is only one more night; he won’t let it escalate into anything else.

John shudders just at the gentle kiss Barsad presses to the back of his neck. The scrape of teeth there has him moaning out already, his legs trying to shift apart anxiously even though he is lying on his side. He holds his hip firmly.

“Steady, breathe for me, little brother.”

His order gets an obedient gulp of air taken in and Barsad smiles affectionately. “We’re not going to mate, John.” He tries to ignore the disappointed noise he gets. “But I’m going to try and work out some of your heat, ok? To make it a little more bearable, but you have to promise to try and eat for me after.”

“P-promise.”


	7. Chapter 7

It’s all John can get out, words feeling thick and sluggish on his tongue. He’s been trying, trying so, so hard not to think about mating with Barsad all day, but the thoughts won’t stop. They coil around his brain relentlessly, without mercy when Barsad is so close, when he smells so strong and good. He _would_ be a good mate, no matter what he’s told John. He’d treat him like an equal, he’d tease him, too, teach him things, and he’d explore his body with those graceful fingers, he’d take him with a smile, with playful kisses and rough rocks of his hips and John whines out just at the thought, feeling a sudden, fresh rush of slickness dripping out of him.

Barsad makes a soothing, shushing sound and his fingers trail down his belly, patting there before he slides his hand under John’s thigh, guiding it up and back over his own so he’s spread with Barsad spooning behind him. John wants to wriggle back and try for Barsad’s cock even knowing he won’t get it, but Barsad is smart enough to keep his loincloth on, only slipping John’s out of the way. He’s confused, Barsad said this wouldn’t help, but then Barsad’s hand slides right by his cock and he strokes a finger and it slides across his hole with ease thanks to the slippery mess he’s been making for Barsad.

He jerks in his grip as though he’s been stung and his hands fly up to grasp onto the arm Barsad has wrapped securely wrapped around his chest, barely not squeezing into the wounds there. “Oh-oh god,” he curses, realizing what Barsad is going to do, and his body tenses with anticipation. He’s never felt it, always felt too embarrassed to do it himself during his faux heats even when he gets wet for them, though he’s always wondered what it feels like.

Now he knows, though, the slow glide of Barsad’s finger entering him. It’s so easy, he’s so receptive for him, so ready. His mouth drops open to pant, a single finger enough to make his nerves sing.

“This is what your body wants, little brother, isn’t it?” Barsad mutters it huskily behind his ear, sounding like smoke, and his scent wraps around John who nods his head with a quick jerk, feeling Barsad’s lips curve against his skin. “Just relax, let go,” he says as he easily pushes another into him. Then he’s curling them, pumping them into him slowly.

His eyes nearly cross at the pulses of pleasure that quake through him. He feels like could choke on his own relief now. It’s not bonding, it’s not being tied and fucked and filled, but it’s helping something in him, to be stretched open like he should be, to have an alpha’s strong scent rubbed all over him while it happens. Barsad’s fingers piston into him, hook perfectly to drag across his prostate and he whimpers, his precome dribbling down onto the bedding, more pulsing out with each spot-inducing push to the nerves inside.

Barsad whispers soothing nonsense into his ear as he squirms and comes all over the bedding, sticky white smearing the soft furs, panting gasps as he stupidly mumbles out an apology for it, gets more reassurances that he’s being good, doing just what he’s supposed to, that Barsad often shares the bedding with Bane and it’s seen a lot worse, how beautiful he looks all open and panting for him.

“You’re such a gift.” It’s said with sucking wet kisses to his throat, and Blake arches into them, how good they feel, how Barsad’s tongue swipes across the shell of his ear and he breathes against it with his own heavy breaths. “Such a gift, little brother.”

Bane’s gift, Bane’s gift and not Barsad’s, and he won’t go further even though they both want to.

He keeps fucking him with his fingers, making John’s toes curl tightly as he comes again, begs quietly for more as his nails dig crescent moons into Barsad’s arm, laughing sharply at the vague notion that back in the village it was usually him milking the cows and now he finds himself in similar position. He shares it in a slur of words with Barsad and it gets a low laugh.

“Let me make sure to milk you dry, then,” is the playful tease he gets in response, and his fingers don’t stop, pistoning into him in an endless rhythm that keeps him going, spending again and again as he’s worked over perfectly while Barsad nearly coos in his ear, all of his gentle soothing making each orgasm a little more blissful even though he’s tired and not tied like he wants. He finally pulls at Barsad’s arm and shakes his head when he’s too tired, too empty feeling to come again even though his body wants to, is certainly willing to try, still feeling a wanting ache when Barsad slides his soaked fingers out of him.

“Can you think now? Hmm?” Barsad chuckles softly when John makes an annoyed, tired noise at the question.

“Jerk,” John says even as Barsad coaxes him into drinking some cool water, into taking bites of apple from his hand. He can, though. He’s still burning up inside, but part of him is sated enough, tired enough that he can just rest loosely in Barsad’s hold. He can feel his cock digging firmly against his back and he would tease him about it if it wasn’t so cruel, knowing just how much Barsad has been putting up with.

“You’re going to poke a hole in my back.”

Maybe he’s a jerk, too.

It gets him a low snicker and a sharp tug on his hair that sends a flash of heat through him, makes his tired cock twitch with interest. “I’m afraid you’ll have to deal with it unless you want me to move.”

He shakes his head quickly at that, settling in more. He feels good, much better than he did before, and he wants to be able to sleep just like this. Barsad tells him that the woods should be clearer here, safe enough that they can rest together, and it’s not long before he can hear Barsad’s soft snores behind him, making a little smile pull at his mouth before he sleeps, too.

When he wakes up, his stomach is all twisted up again with the heat, but he feels stronger, the food and Barsad’s careful ministrations making him feel like walking more isn’t actually going to be the death of him. He sits up slowly and makes a face at the state of the bedding. Barsad looks over from the fire and laughs softly.

“It’ll definitely need a wash when we get home.”

Home. It feels strange, but with Barsad there, it feels like maybe one day he can think of it as home.

“We’ll… still see each other, right?” he checks.

Barsad gives him a smile. “Of course; you are my little brother. I am going to teach you to hunt right alongside Bane.”

Right, Bane. His mood drops. It’s not Bane’s fault, if anything, it’s the village’s, that they’ve sold him off to save their own skins. A not so small amount of resentment bubbles out of him at that. Barsad says something he doesn’t catch, but it pulls him out of his thoughts, makes him look at him questioningly.

“I was saying,” Barsad repeats slowly, almost nervously, “I would appreciate it, little brother, if we kept the circumstances of how your heat came to be between us.”

“I thought you said he wouldn’t be mad.”

Barsad shakes his head quickly. “No, it is not his anger that I fear. It is his guilt.”

“You don’t want him to feel bad, for taking me from you.”

“You were never mine, little brother,” Barsad says quietly, reaching to pat his cheek gently before standing to gather up their supplies.

It’s quiet when they walk. He doesn’t need Barsad to hold him up as much as he did yesterday, but he can’t find it in himself to tell the other man that. He leans into the strong, slender arm wrapped around his waist, lets his scent wash over him, wanting it even after he washed up yet again in the stream that morning after all of the stickiness of last night.

Barsad halts them, his head tilting suddenly before he grins. “There.” He points, and through the many trees John can just barely make out a tree in the distance stained with red. “It’s to mark the outer perimeter of the encampment.”

When they pass it, it isn’t long before John can hear voices, movement, and life. He starts to see tents peeking out from between trees, and soon they have stepped into the thick of them, a cleared out area of the woods where he is suddenly quite surrounded by men and women who crowd around Barsad, clasp him on the shoulder in greeting, thump him on the back, embrace him. John finds himself shrinking back from all of the different strong alpha scents that surround him, overwhelming him even as a few sniff at him curiously.

“He has gone into a heat,” Barsad explains for him as he gently shoos away his brothers and sisters to give John room to breathe. “He will be more than happy to greet you all after.”

It gets some sympathetic noises and smiles, and John nods warily when a few bid him a ‘farewell, little brother.’ They leave him alone, though, only one staying near Barsad, a tall man with dark skin, built like an oak. He is cupping Barsad’s cheeks and kissing his forehead despite the indignant noises that it gets.

“Talia is looking for you. Bane has just returned from the hunt and he will be with her, no doubt.”

A completely unreasonable spark of jealously unfurls in John’s stomach when he watches how Barsad’s head tilts when the man’s thumb brushes over his cheek. “When you’re done escorting him, my tent is always available.”

John didn’t even know he could growl like that, but he feels it rumbling through his chest. It makes both men look over at him in surprise, Barsad patting the other man’s wrist and guiding his hands down.

“Thank you, Kojo.”

“Are you going to menti—”

“ _Thank you,_ Kojo,” Barsad emphasizes dismissively, and Kojo shakes his head, ruffs his hand through Barsad’s hair.

“Business between warrior brothers, I suppose,” is all he says before he leaves, nodding his head to John as well.

Barsad looks at him strangely when Kojo leaves, and John can’t help but take hold of his wrist tightly, protectively.

“Are you going to go to him after you drop me off?” It’s irrational. Barsad has had to put up with so much. He has to be aching to fuck by now, and John doesn’t _care_. It’s not fair because Barsad is _his,_ and John doesn’t want him to go off and fuck with someone else.

He sighs when Barsad slips his arm back around him, speaking softly. “John, it’s just the bond trying to pull us together. You won’t care come morning.”

“I _will_ ,” he protests, “I will care.”

“You _won’t,”_ Barsad’s voice goes harsh for the first time speaking to him, and John hates that it makes him flinch, that Barsad sees it and softens. “I’m sorry. It’s hard—” He looks like he’s going to say something else then shakes his head. “Let me take you to them.”

Barsad doesn’t give him a chance to say anything else. He guides him instead to a tent that is more central to the large open area, a little bigger, too, enough to house a group of people if needed. When Barsad reaches to pull open the weatherproofed skins closing it, they open suddenly and a woman steps out.  Her long brown hair is twisted back into a braid with beads and bits of dried flowers woven into it. Her body shares many of the same markings and ink that Barsad’s body does, written out in the same scrawling reds and blacks, and she wears the same single loincloth, her chest just as bare as Barsad’s. He tries not to focus there, feeling a flush of slight embarrassment over it when her eyes go immediately to him.

They’re sharp, focused as they take him in, and he tries not to squirm. He has to look terrible, completely a mess and reeking of heat, but she seems satisfied somehow with him, nodding her head slowly in greeting.

“Hello, little omega. What a precious gift you are.”

“It’s John,” he says, and when he does, she seems amused, tilting her head slightly.

“John.” When her hand touches his cheek, he doesn’t feel the need to flinch away. Her scent is so like Barsad’s, strong, soothing, and when her nails run a slow graze down his cheek, he’s mortified by the soft whine that comes from the back of his throat, the fresh pulse of lubricant that drips out of him.

“You are so deep in your heat,” she observes, and John feels slightly grateful that she addresses him about it, not just Barsad. “Is it truly your first?” When he nods and tilts his head more for her, she seems satisfied, squeezing his shoulder slightly before letting go.

“Bane will be very pleased. He is inside waiting for you.”

“Will they now?” Barsad can’t seem to help asking quickly, and Talia laughs softly.

“Tonight, but they need at least some time to see each other. Bane has just as much commendable self-control as you, brother. He can resist until tonight. Come now, let them be.” Her words have a finality to them that even just meeting her John realizes there is no arguing with. He turns his head to watch as they walk away, feeling something hurting inside when Barsad doesn’t look back.


	8. Chapter 8

It doesn’t matter. It’s just heat. It’s just heat, but he doesn’t want to be alone when he meets Bane, and he’s not being given much of a choice here. The flaps of the tent don’t contain much in the way of scent, and as he stands there with his hand gripping one of the flaps, the scent of another alpha wafts through them, making his nostrils flare. There’s sweat and dirt and it’s Barsad’s scent but less earthy and sharp, more thick, mellowed but just as strong. He tilts his head back and can’t resist just breathing it in, opening his mouth a little to taste it in the air as his knuckles go white gripping the panel in his hand.

It’s the scent that pulls him in, makes him slide open the flap and nearly stumble into the opening. It’s not Barsad, but he knows and his body recognizes that it’s close, that this is finally somewhere to get relief. It takes his eyes a moment to adjust to the change of light. When he does, he stumbles back, ankle catching on a small rock and making him yelp, arms flying back and he grunts in pain when he lands on his ass on the bare dirt.

There’s a demon looming over him. The body of a man but the head of an animal, no not an animal, but there are hides and skin, tusks boring out of the strange face and splashes of dark color everywhere. The low chuckle that comes from it is muffled, and he feels so fucking stupid when he realizes that he’s looking at a gruesome mask of sorts worn by who must be Bane.

“Are you alright, little one?”

John shoves at his huge hands when they’re offered, feeling embarrassed enough, forcing himself to stand on his own. “What the fuck was that for? Why are you wearing _that?”_

The covered head tilts slightly in confusion. “I did not mean to surprise you. It is a hunting mask used for special hunts… do they not wear them in your village?”

He shakes his head quickly, trying to take in a shaky breath as Bane makes a noise of understanding and slowly lifts the monstrous face off. John stares then for a different reason. Underneath, pale blue eyes greet him, thick lips and closely shorn brown hair. There’s a scar running across his face diagonally, from his cheek to his eyebrow; it mars his face but completes it somehow. His body makes him look like he could wrestle the bear that almost took him and Barsad out with ease, the same designs as Talia and Barsad run over him in thick bands across his powerful arms and chest, and between his body and the scar on his face he looks every bit like the powerful warrior that John had heard whispers about in the village.

But his hand is gentle when he cups his cheek, a calloused thumb scraping slightly across his jaw as Bane studies him just as intently as John has looked him over. When he guides him into tilting his head, using the angle to sniff across his throat, his body arches forward, his toes pointing as he stands up on them so that he can be up closer to Bane, and the rumble of approval from him feels good. It feels ever better when he’s pulled up against his thick, warm chest. His own arms shoot out to slide under Bane’s, to wrap around him and his fingers dig into the powerful muscles of his back, feeling scars there.

Bane makes an approving noise and his nose is in John’s hair, rubbing over his scalp and taking in long, deep pulls of his scent, learning it carefully as he crushes him to his chest.

It’s almost perfect, and he lets it wash over him as he sinks into Bane’s hold, only protesting at the low chuckle he gets when he tries to worm in closer. He wants all of the touch he can get, days of Barsad holding him but not as much as they both would have liked making him desperate for skin against skin.

“You are a sweet one.” It’s said fondly, and Bane tilts his head back, presses their foreheads together then smiles when John can’t resist trying to catch his lips up for a kiss. “And very deep in your heat, aren’t you?”

He murmurs throatily in agreement, protesting when Bane won’t kiss him, only brings his hand up to press his fingers across his parted lips. “If we start that, I doubt we will be able to stop ourselves from more, no matter how much I would like to kiss you.”

When Bane pulls back, John feels at a momentary loss, but he is able to at least catch a little bit of his wits about him, reminding himself that he shouldn’t be begging for a man he barely knows, and it clears his head more, even with Bane’s heady scent filling the tent. He tenses slightly, and Bane watches him carefully, seeming curious at his change in posturing.

“You are strong even with your heat clouding you. It is quite commendable,” he finally says as he lowers himself down onto the ground. “Will you sit with me? I would like to know you as much as I can before tonight.”

“Barsad said that you would rather have waited, not taken me till later, after you knew me more,” he says in response, watching Bane closely even as the man sits back, reclines his palms onto the flat earth and watches him, nodding.

“My brother is wise and knows me well. There are few I mate with beyond him. I prefer to know my partners well before intimacy.”

“Why?” he crouches down slowly, considers sitting but hates the idea that he’s slick and it will probably mix from his thighs with the dirt on the floor and dirty him yet again.

Bane shakes his head slightly. “It does not matter. That will end, regardless. I will be loyal to you,” he assures him, reaches his hand out as though he can’t resist touching him and runs his hand down his arm. “So you have no reason to be concerned about it. Will you sit in my lap, let me hold you?”

_I will be loyal to you._ And not be with Barsad. Barsad who John knows loves his brother more than anything. John hasn’t even seen the two of them interact and he knows it. Barsad who would rather be unhappy and have his brother never even know about the budding bond between them than cause him guilt. Barsad who he can’t keep out of his head even with Bane there and drawing him into his lap, tenderly rubbing along his thighs, massaging into the muscles there so sore from heat and walking on days without end.

The touch makes his thighs shake and he spreads them with an embarrassed sound because he can’t even help it anymore.

“There is no need to be ashamed,” Bane tells him when the flush of red makes his ears and throat bright. His thick hands squeeze warmly into his muscles still, his thumbs pressing into the crux of his thigh. “How long ago did it start?”

“Days… days ago.”

Bane makes a sympathetic sound. “You have had to endure so much. You are strong to have been able to travel with it tormenting you. Will you allow me to do what I can to ease it before tonight?”

He swears and nods sharply and bites back a cry when Bane’s finger’s touch over his hole. Bane’s cheek is against his, watching as his loincloth is drawn aside, as his cock is the deep shade of red it’s been for days, leaking out for him.

“You are so wet for me,” he marvels quietly. The approval sinks into John’s skin, so soothing, and his eyes lid heavily. He tenses again then sags into Bane’s hold when his thick fingers worm into him slowly, but he can’t. It’s so good, but he can’t, there’s guilt and want building up inside even with the heat telling him to shut up and take.

“B-Barsad!” He gasps out the name and feels Bane’s fingers go still in him, slide away.

“That,” he says cautiously against his cheek, “is a curious name to cry when I am trying to pleasure you.”

“No… NO, I didn’t mean like that.” He shakes his head quickly. “I wanted… I wanted to talk to you about him.”

Bane doesn’t speak, and John decides that maybe that’s a sign to go ahead. He hopes, anyway. He doesn’t exactly have much to go on with Bane, but he’s putting his trust into Barsad right now, all of the obvious love and loyalty he has to this man that he calls brother.

“Barsad… He triggered the heat, by accident,” he quickly clarifies when he feels Bane’s muscles tense under him. He launches into the story, the bear, the kiss that was meant to be only a celebration and how it triggered something in him, that was a pull between them because of how very compatible they were, how much Barsad worked to keep his distance between them, to not complete the bond.

“He didn’t want me to tell you,” John says quietly, feeling uneasy at how Bane has said nothing, his hands only resting lightly on his thighs, not tensed but not relaxed. “I don’t… fuck I don’t even know why I’m telling you, but, but it just seemed wrong for you not to know… It seems wrong for you two not to be together when it’s obvious how much you love each other.”

Bane’s hands tense on him, and John squirms at how his fingers dig into his flesh. Then he’s out of his lap suddenly, Bane’s hand on his wrist and pulling up to stand firmly.

“Come with me.” It’s curt, sharp, and John feels his stomach sinking. He just had to open his mouth. He doesn’t dare do it again while he’s pulled out of the tent. When he yelps and nearly stumbles over a rock, though, as he’s dragged, Bane stops, slows and wraps a thick arm around his waist to keep him steady and close. It’s familiar, and John feels terrible, hopes he hasn’t completely ruined things now between the two of them after Barsad asked him not to tell.

They’re going to another tent. This is smaller, more a home than the last tent they had been in, and Bane pulls aside the flap without pause, pulls him in with him.

John freezes in shock, the cloud of alpha scent in the air is enough to make his knees wobble. Barsad is there, crouched down on his knees with his head dipped down low between Talia’s thighs, their similar scents twining together and tickling his nose as Talia is moaning softly, as Barsad’s tongue licks out slowly and he moans at her taste. Her eyes flick towards them as they enter and she looks surprised but not ashamed, doesn’t try to sit up and cover herself. Instead, her hands twine in Barsad’s hair and she stills him, her breathing heavier when she speaks.

“What is it?”

Barsad sits up quickly, wiping the sheen that glistens from his lips, his tranquil eyes widen in surprise to see them both there. John wants to just apologize, but he doesn’t even know what to say.

Bane’s hand goes into Barsad’s hair and he yanks him up by it roughly, making the other man cry out in surprise, his hands flying up to grab at Bane’s wrist. They drop down quickly when Bane sharply orders him to be still, when he shakes him by the scalp like one might a disobedient pup.

“How could you not tell me _this_ , Barsad? Did you think it wise to keep such a thing from me?” Bane is angry and John flinches from the tone as the color drains from Barsad’s face, as his eyes flick to him and he opens his mouth but no words come out.


	9. Chapter 9

“Bane!” Talia’s voice is sharp. It cuts through the thick tension inside of the tent and he turns his head towards her, letting go of Barsad’s hair and taking hold of the back of his neck, instead.

“They started a bond.” John is struck by how _upset_ he sounds by it. “They started a bond and he would have let it be broken so that I could claim him, instead.”

“He is for _you,_ ” Barsad finally says, trying to twist away, looking anywhere in the room but at Bane or John.

“Barsad.” Bane says his name roughly and cups his cheeks. Their foreheads press together and it makes Barsad go still, a shiver running through him. “How could you think I would ever want that? To break your fledgling bond?”

Barsad protests, tries to push at Bane’s hands and gets nowhere. “I-I knew you would feel guilt—”

“So you chose to say nothing, and lose your own chance at something so rare,” Bane chides, his voice dark with disapproval.

“I wanted you to have it,” Barsad insists, sounding strained, and Bane is kissing him suddenly, sweetly, as Barsad’s arms fling around him passionately, and John feels terrible, not jealous and angry that he never asked for this, that really none of the three of them asked for this to happen and yet here they are.

“He is yours, brother,” Barsad finally says softly, even as his eyes are closed, as Bane’s lips mouth at his jawline, “he can give you things that I cannot.”

“Hush, little lamb of mine,” Bane orders softly, and Barsad’s fingers grip into his shoulders at the endearment. “You have given me more than most can ever dream of.”

“Not this, not children, not the bond.”

Talia clears her throat suddenly, drawing all of their attention to her. Both of the men look apologetic, and Bane releases Barsad suddenly.

“I am sorry to interrupt, to trouble you with our affairs, sister,” he apologizes, taking her hand and kissing it.

“Since when have your affairs not been mine?” she says, shaking her head. “If you had only told me this, I could have spared you both some grief.”

When they look at her, not understanding, she reaches for John, pulls him over and guides him to stand between them both.

“Take him together, bond him together. You share everything else, why should your John be any different?”

“You can’t just bond with two people,” John protests, “it doesn’t work like that! Once the bond is formed, you can’t make another.”

“And that is why it must be done simultaneously. It can be done, though it is a rare thing, to find two alphas willing to share their 'prize'.”

Bane’s troubled face is clearer at Talia’s words and he pulls Barsad close again, John making a noise of protest when he is somehow sandwiched between them.

“I have always said that what is mine is yours brother…” There is a hint of teasing to his tone, now, and Barsad responds to it, cracking a small grin.

“And what is mine is yours, as well,” he replies immediately.

“Don’t I get a fucking say in this?” John growls out irritably, pushing out from between them. “I would just like to have a little bit of a say for once in who I get to mate!”

They both pull him back at that and there’s an apologetic sound from Barsad as he kisses his cheek. Bane’s hands run slowly down his sides, making the anger drain out of him and unfortunately reminding him of all of the heat still in his belly, it having been momentarily forgotten with all of the commotion surrounding him.

“Do you not wish us, John?” Barsad asks, and it’s an unfair question when his body is so close and there’s the promise that he could actually have it, now. Barsad knows it, too, placing a daringly bold kiss to his throat, the lightest of sucks there to make his skin wet and prickle at the sensation.

“You said you’d be a terrible mate,” he says even as he shudders, as Barsad chuckles and presses his teeth in a quick nip to the corner of his jaw.

“I will be. Simply the worst, but I promise I will try my very hardest to please you.”

Bane’s low laugh rumbles through them both when he wraps his large arms around them. “He is everything you could hope for in a brother… in a mate.”

John squirms between them, their heat and scents pressed up close and making him dizzy. The way Bane presses a kiss to his brow isn’t helping, and now Barsad’s fingers are biting into his hips with his tight grip.

“Let us both have the honor of being your mate?” Bane asks him, and he’s sincere, guides John to look up into his eyes while he poses the question. It’s really not fair because he can’t think of a single reason to say no. He’s put up with too much ache and want and now there’s the promise of relief.

“What about you two?” he manages, barely able to blink the glazed look out of his eyes. “Can you still be together?”

The question seems to surprise them both and John nearly rolls his eyes. “It wouldn’t be fair otherwise,” he points out, and Bane smiles down at him in approval, touching his thumb to his lip.

“If that will please you… how can we deny you it?” he teases quietly, and John feels his breath catch in his chest. The thought of maybe watching them together, well, maybe that would please him quite a bit. Not now, though, not during his heat, because he wants both of them for that. He nods his head quickly, eagerly, and Barsad makes a pleased sound, tries to turn him for a kiss and John whines when he gets pulled out from between them by Talia.

“Do not think that this means you don’t have to wait for the ceremony.”

____________________

Barsad holds back a disappointed noise at their omega being pulled from their grasp. Their omega. It is better than he ever could have hoped for, and from the smile he sees in Bane’s eyes, he knows that he feels the same. He stops then and looks at Talia, how she is rubbing a calming hand down John’s back.

“I have not done the hunt…” He knew that part of the ceremony at least, the hunt to bring back a meal for the village, to show that he was worthy of the privilege of caring for their omega.

“You have hunted with John this entire time I suspect,” Talia points out and he nods slowly. “Then it is enough. I do not think John doubts your ability to provide, to protect.”

“Hey, I took out that bear, too,” John points out, and Barsad grins, nodding quickly.

“He did. He is quite a little warrior.”

“I’m not little,” John complains, and then he shudders, wrapping his arms around himself.

“All of our scents together are too much in such a small place,” Talia chides them. “Both of you will go and clean up. I will help John get ready for tonight.”

“Yes, sister,” they both chorus out together, not wanting to cause John any more undue strain with his heat. He has been through quite enough. Barsad touches his shoulder gently, a quiet promise that he will see him again soon, before he leaves with his brother.

Outside of the tent, Barsad is pulled into his brother’s arms, receiving a shake for being ‘thickheaded’ that he returns with a fierce poke to Bane’s ribs.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes quietly, “I only was doing what I thought would be for the best.”

“The best for _me_ , not the best for all of us,” Bane corrects mildly. “It cannot be like that any longer. Now, we will need to always strive for what is the best for all three of us.”

Barsad smiles at the thought, of their tent shared, of John squirming and warm between them, of kisses shared with him, with one another. It feels almost too good to be true.

“I will.” He nods quickly, eagerly. “Or you are both sure to gang up on me.”

Bane’s thick lips curve with amusement. “Is he as ornery and headstrong as he seems?”

“So much more so. He is addled with his heat now. When it is rutted out of him, he will be a hellion.”

“I look forward to it,” Bane answers, and truth be told, so does Barsad. He has his brother show him the elk that he felled that very morning. Bane explains the ritual, what Talia has told him of it.

“We must skin it; the pelt will be a gift, something to join our bedding, a reminder.”

“We will have more than one,” Barsad says as he remembers the bear hide, gathers it from their supplies and works with Bane as he skins the elk. He tells him the tale of the bear’s demise as they wash the furs together, ready them to cure and dry. It is a careful process and good for them both, something to focus on as the day wears on slowly, as a large fire pit is created in the center of the village and the elk is gutted and cleaned properly, put on a spit to roast for the feast.

When the sun begins to dip down in the sky, Talia comes to them. They have both cleaned up in the nearby river. His brother had looked at the deep bites on his arm in disapproval, cleaned and bandaged them carefully, nearly clucked his tongue at him because he had not had them treated right away. In all honestly, he had nearly forgotten his injury, so much had happened since then, and John’s scent made the pain easy to ignore.

“How is he?” Bane asks, and she smiles.

“Very needy. I was able to have him rest, but he is more than ready to begin.”

They’re both quick to nod eagerly at that. John’s scent is strong enough that, even sequestered away in a tent, it reaches them. It more than likely permeates the entire area at the moment, something that Barsad is sure would embarrass their omega were he to realize. It is wonderful, though, a sign of how fertile and receptive he is for them. A good omen.

Talia takes them both by the hand, pulling them close and giving them each a gentle kiss on the knuckles. Her usual fierce features, the face she puts on as she leads their entire tribe, are softened and she looks pleased.

“I am very happy for you both.”

She nearly squeaks with indignation as Bane lifts her, spinning her around so that her braid whips through the air. She beats at Barsad’s shoulders when she is passed off to him for the same, for a tight embrace and a loving kiss on the cheek.

“May we name our first daughter after you?” he asks when he is sure she is not going to truly gut him. Bane makes a noise of approval at the question and Talia’s lips purse. She seems to consider it a moment.

“If John agrees.”


	10. Chapter 10

John wipes the sweat off of his forehead yet again, the fire in his belly making the task pretty futile; it beads up again almost instantly. Talia treated him nicely, laid him down on her bedding and guided his head to her lap, told him to rest, that he would need the energy. It felt good. She cleaned and tended to the scratches on his shoulder while he closed his eyes and drifted. His heat kicked up and made him feel slick and wanting, but he was tired, days of walking, of worrying, and now he could just relax for a little. It made it easier to slip off into a light doze.

As he drifted, Talia explained some parts of the ceremony, but to be honest he’d been mostly asleep. When he mumbled an apology, she patted his cheek, assured him that it was not important, that it could be explained during if need be, that his rest was more important. She left him with a bucket of fresh water and some soap, a fresh change for the cloth he wore around his waist. He blinked and nodded groggily when she told him to take his time and wash well, that coming into their bond after washing away their past was important, symbolic.

When he was awake enough, he even made sure to scrub behind his ears, the cool water waking him up. Even just his own hands, slicked with bubbles and scrubbing dirt away from his skin, was almost too much. He was too sensitive, hyperaware of every sound, every prickle of sensation on his skin. Now he’s dressed, feels clean at least, save for the already building slick that just won’t go away. Talia said to come out when he was ready and, well, he’s pretty sure he isn’t going to get any more ready than he is now.

He’s surprised by how dark it is when he peeks out of the tent. He didn’t realize it had gotten so late. The stars are bright, though, and there’s the crackling brightness of a bonfire in the center of the tents, the scent of cooked meat drawing him closer. Even with his heat, he hasn’t eaten, and it’s overriding the usual nausea. Besides, he can smell them there, even across the tents and the smoke of the fire. He wonders if they can smell him, too. He can’t help but squirm slightly at the thought, his feet quickly carrying him to the bonfire.

It’s surrounded by members of the tribe, most are chatting, and some are playing instruments, drums and pipes. Barsad and Bane are there with Talia, and more than a couple of heads turn towards him when he steps closer, trying not to feel self-conscious at the sudden attention when he knows he’s flushed from his belly to his throat. He clenches, tries to will himself not to leak out too visibly while all eyes are on him.

He’s seated across from Bane and Barsad on a thick fur. They’re both tracking his every movement, even as he tries to shift and get comfortable. Them he doesn’t mind, though. It’s everyone else watching, knowing how badly in need he is right now. Bane reaches to touch his knee when he squirms again, and just that touch shouldn’t be enough to send a shiver through him.

“Bane, not yet,” Talia scolds mildly, and Bane withdraws his hand. John wishes he wouldn’t.

“We have a gift for you, John,” Bane says instead, his hand gesturing to the fire, the carcass there that has been spit and is roasting over the flames, fat and juices dripping down from it, making the flames lick up further. It makes his stomach growl and he nods a little, remembering what Talia said at least a little. Bane hunted this for him specifically. It’s all for him, and up to him if he wants to share it with the tribe.

It’s not like he can eat an entire dear by himself, so when Barsad takes his knife from his belt and cuts off of a thick hunk of meat John shakes his head, tells him to share with the tribe first. His words are met with a murmur of approval, a clasp or two on the back that he tries not to jerk away from knowing it’s done in gratitude, and soon the elk is being carved up, served out to everyone. Bane holds out a bowl to him, pieces of carefully sliced meat in it.

“It is the heart,” he explains, and John is happy he isn’t squeamish, not when Barsad quietly explains that it is the most prized part of the kill, that being gifted it brings good fortune on their soon to be bond. He picks up a slice with his fingers and eats slowly, licking juices from them, savoring the rich flavor. It’s delicious, better than he expected, and he makes them eat it with him, sharing a piece with Talia who accepts it graciously.

He’s still licking his lips and sucking a bit of grease from his thumb when a bowl is set down beside him, full of red. Blood, or at least some blood, it’s too thick, like a paint or an ink. Talia tells him it’s time to continue, and he doesn’t remember her explaining this. He feels slightly nervous when Bane guides him to lie down on the furs, but Barsad pets through his hair, promising that he will be just fine.

Then they’re painting him with fingers dipped into the thick red. It tickles. He bites his lip and stifles an undignified giggle when Barsad’s red thumb draws a line across his shoulder, when Bane swirls his own across his throat. They’re designs. John wants to see, but is told to keep his head down for now.

“What are they?” he asks, staring up at the stars and trying not to squirm.

“Promises,” Talia says, “vows. They are writing them on your skin so they can never be forgotten.”

“There are stories in the designs, the pictures,” Bane explains quietly, making a whorl of red with his thumb across his chest, “stories of the gods. We are writing so that they can see it, as well.”

“So I’m like a sacrifice?” John can’t help but ask, biting his lip when Barsad’s finger trails down the cut of his hip, stopping just above his loin cloth.

Barsad smiles at his reaction then shakes his head. “No, John. I have told you, you are a gift, from them to us. We are thanking them, making vows to never forsake such a present.”

The paint feels warm. As it settles into his skin, he’s struck by how it tingles. He’s not sure if it’s something in the mixture or if it’s their hands finally on him. Maybe it’s both. He bites back a whimper. There’s people watching, and god, he feels exposed enough knowing that they can all smell him. He feels good, though, tingling all over, and his thighs want to spread. He had to work to clamp them shut, a soft gasp escaping when Bane’s hand slides between them easily and makes them practically snap apart eagerly.

“D-Don’t, please, there’s people,” he whispers harshly even as Bane’s hand squeezes his inner thigh and fire courses through his veins.

“They are our family, our tribe,” Barsad says reassuringly, though Bane relinquishes his hold at his request, “they are here to witness our bonding, and there is no need to feel shame in front of them.”

There’s also no need to spread his legs in front of them, but he feels like he can’t close them now. He’s dripping even worse from their attentions. He watches as they both dip their hands into the bowl. They are looking down at him and the words on their tongue are foreign, unfamiliar, sounding ancient and old as they speak out together. The words tangle together as they bring their hands down together and press them tightly to his belly, one to each side, leaving deep red handprints there, claiming him together. The possessive feeling that washes over him makes him gasp out and squirm under their palms.

Talia takes his hand and squeezes it. “Your mind, your body, your spirit, your fertility, they have just vowed to claim and protect all of it.”

“W-What do I do?” He feels overwhelmed. Their eyes are dark and watching him, desire there, hunger, and he wants to be claimed by it.

“You give it all to them, John, and you take them for yourself.”

He nods quickly and Talia leans close to his ear, whispering the words for him to repeat. They’re numb on his tongue, thick. He doesn’t know them exactly, but he knows their meaning. He’s giving himself to them, claiming them in return, and it feels good, right. When he’s finished, a small, slightly overwhelmed smile is on his face, and they both seem charmed by it. Bane is over him, kissing him suddenly. His lips are so soft against John’s and he sighs at the attention, opens his mouth after only a moment to welcome Bane’s tongue as it flicks across his lips.

Barsad’s hands are washed clean and they trail across the dried paint on his torso. John’s breath catches when he palms over his chest, rubbing over his nipples and plucking the sensitive flesh between his long fingers and making him arch into the touch.

A low cry escapes him when Barsad ducks down to mouth over his chest, sucking a firm kiss against his nipple before he worries it gently between his teeth. Bane chuckles at his reactions, his squirms, tells him how wonderful they are even as he kisses him more, as his hand caresses up his thigh, rubbing small circles into his skin there, his thumb giving a feather light stroke to the crux of it, making his insides clench up before he whimpers and pulses out a fresh supply of slick in anticipation.

He moans. They have to stop. They’re being watched, still. They’re in the middle of an entire fucking tribe, still, but he can’t stop wriggling under their attentions. The ceremony has to be over if they’re doing this. It has to be, because John can’t stand the thought of them stopping longer than it takes to get them somewhere secluded.

“Y-Your tent,” he manages to stutter out, his fingers digging into the thick muscles on Bane’s back, somewhat hopeful that he’ll just carry him there.

“Our tent?” Barsad asks curiously, and he’s switched places with Bane. John shudders when thick, soft lips press kisses down his throat, when Barsad’s warm mouth is against his own, when he’s tasting him sweetly then chuckling against him.

“Mhm,” he hums in agreement, kissing back, as desperate to taste Barsad as he was the very first time they kissed, when all of this strangeness came into being. It’s so good, and when his hand grips tight to his hip, squeezing, he arches up more, spreads his legs further, _oh God your tent, please_ , stumbling out past his lips.

“We have to complete the ceremony, John,” Bane says, and John’s eyes squeeze shut tightly in frustration. He’s waited so long.

“W-What else, what else could there fucking be?” he asks, unable to keep the anger out of his tone.

He makes a sharp choking noise when Bane’s hand leaves his thigh and his fingers touch against all of the slick and heat that he’s been making for them, rough fingertips catching on the rim of his hole and making him want to scream, to thrust his hips down and take them in, let them stretch him open like he needs.

“We need to form our bond, little one,” Bane says with an amused tone, like the answer is so obvious and John is just being a little thick about it. “Our tribe will witness it.”


	11. Chapter 11

John’s fingers dig into his muscle more and he goes still when he realizes what Bane means. Then he’s shaking his head vehemently because, oh god, Bane can’t be serious. They can’t expect him to do that while people are watching. This is bad enough, how he’s squirming restlessly against Bane’s fingers while Barsad cards through his hair, whispers little assurances against his ear that it will be alright, to just focus on them.

“We’ll finally be able to fuck the heat out of you, John,” Barsad whispers enticingly, and John whimpers in response to it. “This is how it is meant to be. Witnessed by the gods and the stars, for we have nothing to hide. Our bond is a source of pride.”

He makes it sound so _reasonable_ , which is as ridiculous as the charming, tranquil smile he receives from him, the gentle kisses to his cheek and forehead.

“Just relax. You’ll feel so good, John. We’re going to make you feel so good, just think about that.”

He can’t help but flick his eyes to the crowd and then flicks them away just as fast, staring up at the bright whites of the stars. It’s just one time. It’s just his first time. It’s just losing his virginity in front of a crowd of practical strangers.

His eyes lock onto them as they undress, more specifically they lock onto their cocks, full and red, and he wants them so badly it’s almost more embarrassing than being watched. It takes a slow breath before he spreads his legs further, a silent permission, wide enough that he can feel the strain in his thighs.

“Good boy,” Bane whispers, and it’s humiliating just how good the praise feels, how it makes a part of his brain light up happily in reaction. Barsad’s hand rubbing over his stomach doesn’t smear the paint, he traces over the designs and handprints there before he unwinds John’s loincloth, for all of the good the thing does. Bane already has him mostly exposed, his fingers stroking against his soaked hole, and John’s hands dig into the soft furs under him when they slide into him, drawing out a near mewl as he’s finally being given what he needs.

“We’ll need to get you ready for use carefully,” Barsad says, “you’re going to be so very full of us.”

It should have clicked earlier when Talia said they would take him together, but it hadn’t. Now it does, though; they’re going to take him _together,_ and as impossible as it sounds, his body is already betraying him, pulsing out a fresh rush of fluids onto Bane’s knuckles just at the very idea of them both stretching him open farther than he can even fathom.

Bane’s fingers slide apart slowly inside of him, stretching open his tight opening steadily. He’s looser from his heat, his body readying itself for hours of being knotted, but he’s still new, snug, and the gentle stretch burns wonderfully, sending a strange, satisfied thrill through him that thrums under his skin. This is just what he needs and his body knows it, craves it. It’s only a few moments before his hips are twitching eagerly. Barsad chuckles quietly, patting his side.

“Go ahead, move for him.”

He’s not exactly an expert at it, but he rocks his hips at Bane’s fingers, letting out a blissful sigh at how they plunge into him. A few more rolls of his hips and he can set a rhythm, it sending a slow burn into his muscles, unfamiliar with the motion, but it just adds to the pleasure of it, the straining in his belly, how his body quickly breaks into a sweat.

His own scent is overpowering his alphas’, all of that rich fluid being stroked and played with, filling the air. John’s face flushes a deep red suddenly when he realizes that he can _hear_ it, too, the slick he’s been dripping out for them and the wet, filthy sounds that Bane’s fingers make when they thrust into him. It’s lurid, and everyone has to be able to hear it. The embarrassed flush burns all the way to his ears, which Barsad kisses and whispers into.

“You smell so good, John, and when you’re not so desperate, I’m going to lick you out there, taste all of that sweet wet you’re making for us, lick up every bit of you.”

 _Oh fuck_. He whimpers at the very idea of Barsad’s tongue there playing, and he yanks him back to kiss more, growling against his mouth when their lips slide together. He can’t help but smirk a little when it’s returned. His mouth drops open then when Bane slides another finger into him, when Barsad’s hand slips between his legs so he can circle his fingers across his rim before his own fingers slide in with them. They’re working carefully to open him up, and he still doesn’t get how they’re ever going to fit, but he lets them do what they want, squirming and trying to spread his legs further, only getting more praise for it.

He’s heating up so fast. When they coax him to lie on his side, Barsad moves behind him, and they’re still stretching him. It’s not deep enough, but it’s building to that. His cock is aching and there’s fluid beading up, dripping down onto the furs.

“Messing up your bedding again,” he mumbles out in a daze. It gets a pleased laugh against his ear.

“I don’t mind at all. We’re going to make just as much of a mess as you,” Barsad teases softly, and John’s ready. He tells them that, but they want to be sure, and it’s maddening just how sure, just how much they’re willing to wait and play with him endlessly with their fingers until he’s grabbing at Bane’s arm, teeth clenched as he tries to push his fingers deeper. Bane is lying at his front now, watching his own fingers disappear into John’s hole intently, how John is gripping down tightly around them both.

“C-Come on, come _on._ ” He’s begging now, and he just doesn’t care, not if it gets him what he needs. A low whine catches in the back of his throat and Bane seems to finally take pity on it, kissing him and sliding his tongue into his mouth as he slides his fingers out of him.

They guide John’s thigh up so it’s over Bane’s, and John wraps his arms around him, would wrap his entire body around him if he could, but he settles for this, for letting his leg curl around to the small of Bane’s back. His toes curl against his skin when he feels the blunt, wide tip of Bane’s cock pressing up against his hole.

He could cry he’s so ready for it, how they’ve stretched him so well, and he’s so heated and slicked that there’s almost no resistance, just the welcome feeling of finally, _finally_ feeling Bane’s thick cock breaching him, sliding as deep as possible from their angle, the rumble of pleasure from Bane’s chest, how his breathing becomes faster even as he kisses him, as he bottoms out in him, and John wants more now that he has it, full but not quite content knowing there is more coming, feeling Barsad at his back and kissing his nape.

“Breathe for me, John, don’t fight.”

Fighting is the last thing he has on his mind. Barsad’s hand grips the curve of his ass, parting his cheeks further before he takes hold of himself. Bane bites down lightly on his bottom lip, encouraging him to kiss more as Barsad pushes against them both. It’s tight, so tight as his rim is stretched further, not feeling like it will give until it does, suddenly, and Barsad is popping into him, grunting at the sudden tightness around his cock, moaning as he’s able to slide in beside Bane and John feels his eyes trying to cross at the pleasure of two alphas filling him, the drag of their cocks as they begin to thrust into him, use him, breed him.

As one slides out, the other is pushing in deeply. They sound good and they smell good and he can’t keep quiet, there’s all manner of desperate noises and panting leaving him, he’s chanting out ‘oh god, oh _god_ ’ until he can’t even get that out anymore. Then he’s coming, pulsing out onto Bane’s stomach already as pleasure races through him and he whimpers, so overwhelmed, his cock barely able to begin softening before Barsad reaches around him, stroking it back to life with some encouraging words, telling him how beautiful he is when he comes. He slides his hand between John and Bane’s bodies, resting it on his belly.

“You’re so fertile and ready for us, aren’t you, John? Do you want our bond, our knots, our seed inside?”

“Y-Yes, please, do it!” He stutters and arches between them, moaning breathlessly as their teeth scrape at his neck together. Bane’s hand circles around him now, slow, rough pulls up his cock that send a shudder through him as he’s practically bounced between them, their cocks slamming in, their hips smacking roughly against his ass and thighs as they pound into him, nothing gentle, but everything he needs right now. Low growls rumble against his neck, the graze of teeth becomes something sharper, becoming a warning of what’s building up more and more, almost, almost, until two sets of teeth break into his skin, claiming, marking, bonding, and they are _there._

His heart is racing, pounding at the twin snarls against his neck, the hot licks of tongue as blood wells up. He feels them swelling inside, so, so thick that he can’t see straight, Bane’s visage swimming in his vision as he strokes his cheek, tries to ease him through the burn of so much so fast, but there’s no easing that or the warmth he feels pulsing into him, their come pouring out and filling him even more.

“God!” He shouts it, hands pressing flat to Bane’s chest as small whimpers tear from his throat. It’s too much, it’s so _much_ inside, in his mind, his heart, his body. He’s full. He’s finally full, and he feels raw at the intensity of it, as the feeling of their claim getting under his skin, binding him to them both. He'll return it later, sink his teeth into them both in a savage claim, but for now he can't even see straight.

Even with the fullness, his muscles greedily constrict around their knots, trying to keep them in, trying to take in every bit they’re giving and milk out more, not sated until every drop is locked inside. They’re his, now. His. His. His. His mind blearily supplies the word for him, and he’s downright giddy, euphoric over being locked in place between them, feeling the warm encouraging caresses down his sides, the light pats as warmth, so much warmth pours inside. They take turns touching his chest, his stomach, his cock, stroking warm, breathtaking orgasms out of him, waves of wonderful pleasure that make him sigh out and cling to them as his toes curl.

“Look at him,” Barsad thumbs his cheek affectionately and his voice is low, barely more than a whisper, “blissed out on our knots.”

John just hums, reaching for Bane’s hand, feeling the need to hold onto one of his mates. He plays with his fingers and closes his eyes, savoring every point of contact between him, from their knots to their hands to each inch of skin pressed together. When he opens his eyes and dares to look around, he sees that they’re alone now, just the fire and the moonlight covering their bodies, the gentle night breeze cooling the sweat on their skin. At his questioning noise, Bane pats his side.

“Our bond is completed. They are giving us privacy.”

“It’s a little late for that,” he mutters, his temporary satiation letting him feel embarrassed over what was just seen by the entire tribe. He isn’t sure how he’s going to face any of them in the coming days.

Bane is rubbing his stomach, and from the look in his eyes, John knows he’s picturing how it will look curved, swollen with their children. Barsad’s hand joins him quickly, and John rests his own palms over both of them, sighing out.

“Do you think?”

Bane shifts slightly, his knot softening enough that he can rock in a bit more, making John gasp and his hand fly up to clutch his shoulder.

“We will simply have to keep rutting you through your heat to be certain.”

John nods quickly, more than ok with that, and with how they wrap their arms around him, resting only a few moments longer before they take the time to explore all of John’s body, let him do the same to them, all of them pleasuring one another under the stars and cementing their new bond together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://relevantlyirreverent.tumblr.com/


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